


Bittersweet

by SpoopyG



Category: Homestuck
Genre: I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, this is super old and posted on my wattpad so idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:05:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpoopyG/pseuds/SpoopyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the life of Dave Strider, proclaimed artist of the century and by far the greatest man ever! </p><p>Of course, that dream is not far from a reality, where Mister Strider is a movie maker, and a musician on top charts. </p><p> </p><p>And there is a rival to him, and the public only hears, not sees. The only creature to make any contact with them is family and their manager.</p><p> </p><p>But who would think anything of the artist that never showed their face? </p><p>Everything they do is bittersweet<br/>You could tell them secrets that they'll probably repeat</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> This entire story will probably be a mess. I don't know. But please enjoy my monstrosity.
> 
>  
> 
> The song is Bittersweet by Panic! At the Disco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the beginning of a pathetic end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, so i only ever made one chapter for this, and maybe anyone might possibly want this to become a series?
> 
> I also edited it to be more readable.

Many names could be given to Dave Strider;

Artist; 

Musician;

Director;

Asshole.  
Of course, he has been given those nicknames for a reason- not counting in the very definitive 'asshole'. He had become a very successful man, and now, at the very crushing age of 24, he was out of ideas for new music; which is a very awful thing for someone whose whole career is almost entirely based on music.

And so, as his days went on, he grew more tired and tired of the concrete block that seemed to clog his creative flow. Of course, who would ever want to sit in their confinement called a house for weeks on end when that happened? He deserved a break, and where better than his most favorite café?  
Of course, he hadn’t been there in the years starting from his career.  
-  
A raven-haired man with a bright complexion passed a coffee to a customer, standing by the counter. His face, to anyone willing to take a moment and look up from their phone and take a long look at him would notice sunken eyes from sleepless nights of insomnia and video gaming. Insomnia was caused by multiple things, but something no creature would pinpoint is singing.  
This young lads name is none other than John Egbert, though to his audience, he is only known solely as EB. John, when not singing, worked at the local coffee cade that produced delectable products made right in shop. And he loved every moment standing at that counter, despite his look.

John, as always, held a toothy grin that matched his smooth face and sharp, killing blue eyes that seemed to wipe away the bags that kept their schedule under his eyes. As he was pouring the mixed concoction of espresso, the front door slammed open, creating the smallest crack in the window next to the entrance. John, at this sound and gesture, spun around, wincing, and looked at the pale, blonde man that stood with body-guards at either side in the doorway.

John glanced over this stranger, and took in each detail from his position; blonde hair that seemed spotless, aviators that revealed nothing, a shirt with a record split in half on the front, and black high tops and skinny jeans.

John looked around for other reactions, seeing frozen faces in realization that matched his own; this was Dave Strider, the one seen in magazines where men aspired to be him, and women wanted him with his arm around them or in the sheets.

And the same one just walked in, and John knew he was ready to leave. He was already half done with his shift, and he had only a few hours left. As women and men jumped up to catch a glimpse of the DJ, he walked effortlessly to the counter and gave John a more clear picture; thin transparent lips, small freckles that dotted his nose, and small shimmers of his hair as Dave sashayed to the counter.  
-  
Dave walked up to the Barista, noticing the small name tag on his apron that told him the latter’s name was 'John'. He looked the man in the face; front teeth that stuck out in rows, jet black hair, tan skin that was dotted with small, almost unnoticeable zits at John's hairline, and intense blue eyes that seemed to magnify this persons irreplaceable smile.

"How may I help-" Dave held up a hand to stop the Barista.  
John confusedly waited for Dave to talk, seeming as Dave had something to say. Dave cleared his throat.  
"I am booking this place."  
John tried to tell him, "We don't do reserves," but was interrupted.  
"I don't care."  
And somehow Dave walked away from the counter without being harassed nor mauled, but simply followed by every patron within the store.  
John groaned in frustration.

Now What?


End file.
